


when i was young and dreamed of glory

by cabriesun



Series: take a picture, it'll last longer [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Post Season 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-06-26 17:41:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15668091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cabriesun/pseuds/cabriesun
Summary: Keith and Shiro explore the bounds of their relationship, mourn for those they've lost, and find a new sense of hope in each other on a post-war Earth.





	when i was young and dreamed of glory

**Author's Note:**

> this was one of those things that i'll write whenever i'm blocked, but at the same time will drag on and make everyone suffer with, but then it turned into part of a flash fic!
> 
> **post season 7 nonsense, where the last 3 minutes didn't happen and the war is actually over!**

He wakes up a hospital room. He knows that much, his eyes having to flutter open to examine the rest of his surroundings. White walls, orange lining, a backdrop of the desert. The Galaxy Garrison.

He’s back, but he doesn’t remember how. It’s all grainy in his head, crooked images with no hope of aligning themselves. But, behind the gleam of sunlight that streaks through the bay window, he sees his mother, and his speculation lessens. She’s beautiful, just as she’s always been. It’s still a surprise that she was the one who gave him life.

“Keith…” Her voice cracks on the ‘e’, smile unfaltering. Keith’s vision has cleared further, Kolivan’s hulking stature now fully visible in the far corner of his small room. He manages to release a heavy breath he didn’t know he’d been holding in before he realizes the imbalance.

_Atlas._

“Mom, where’s—”

“He’s okay.” She’s able to read his mind, though they’re still working out the hurdles of their relationship. It scares him, but he’s alright with it. Krolia is his mother. There should at least be one other person in his life that he trusts without trial.

“He’s addressing the public,” she continues, nodding to the small television screen fastened into the wall. Keith had been to the infirmary plenty of times before he and the other Paladins abandoned the Garrison. The televisions are new. A small notion, but one that Keith just… _can’t_ ignore.

The camera that films Shiro’s face zooms in a bit too much, but Keith likes it. He can spot the wrinkles between Shiro’s furrowed brows through his worn gaze. He’s fascinated by the truth that Shiro, though always sounding calm and composed in any and all situations, still can’t mask his only tell.

He speaks with the same validation and strength he lays out on the battlefield, strong for the people in the crowd, and strong for the people that watched from around the world. There was a glint in his eyes: one of passion, determination. As if he’d rebuild the Earth with his own two hands, human and Altean both.

It’d be a stark lie if Keith said it didn’t make his heart beat just a bit faster.

Of all the admirable traits that Shiro holds, his strength is what Keith loves more than anything. He admires strength in anyone, really; the paladins, his mother, the Blades. Anyone partaking the war they’ve so relentlessly fought in has shown exemplary strides of courage, undeniably.

But he knew better than anyone that Shiro had to build that thick skin before the war began. He’d been fighting longer than anyone he knew personally, yet he could still stand at the podium and speak of bravery and resilience. That after all this time, all this pain, he _still_ wishes to stand under the title of a defender of the universe.

“He’s doing a great job.”

“Yeah…” Keith’s fingers rub together, his thin hospital gown the only barrier between them, “he always does.”

“He said he’ll come back to see you afterward,” Krolia shifts at his bedside, ridiculous effort to be gentle, “we weren’t expecting you to wake up so soon, but he’ll be glad to see you’re well.”

He nods, and it’s then when he realizes that he bangs aren’t blocking his view. His hand inches up to the medical wrap that circles the circumference of his head wound tight enough to squeeze some of his brain cells out.

“What happened to me…?” He asks, though the memory comes back quickly, like the flash of a camera.

He’d slammed his head on the dashboard of the Black Lion, and everything faded to black shortly afterward. He’d heard the distress and agony from the other Paladins, the impact of the explosion having more than a lasting effect on them. There’s still briefs echoes of his last conscious moments in his mind.

“The fall wasn’t pretty,” Kolivan speaks for the first time since Keith has awoken, looking—uncharacteristically so—more than relaxed.

“I don’t remember much,” Keith confesses, but Kolivan holds a hand in the air.

“I don’t ask that you do. It’s better that the more tumulus memories of war stay buried if they manage to redact themselves.”

Keith can’t disagree. The flickering recollections were certainly enough for him to handle. “Right.”

There’s a cheer outside of his room, followed by applause that doesn’t seem to want to cease. Soft smiles curve on each of their lips, knowing just whom had walked into their barrack.

“I think it’s time we go.”

Keith’s eyes flicker to Krolia, who rises before nodding to Kolivan. In a split second, they’re widening as he realizes he’ll be alone with the older man. Alone, with endless thoughts and feelings to untangle.

“You guys don’t have to leave. It’s just Shiro—”

“Keith, it’s alright.” Krolia smiles but dread freezes over Keith’s veins, “We’ll be outside if you need us.”

He wants to cry out and tell her to stay to avoid any possible embarrassment he might stumble into, but Shiro’s already entering the room, a bashful smile etched on his chiseled face. Keith grips his sheet tighter, practically feels his eyes rattling in their sockets.

“Excellent speech, Captain.”

At the uttering of the sincere compliment, Shiro returns with a nod and a shake of their hands. He chews on his bottom lip, worry written about his features, and Keith has to fight the chuckle threatening to slip from his lips. Their trapping team leader, an astounding diplomat, captain of the Atlas, but still a dork, at the end of the day. The blush that adorns his study cheeks is more than evident.

“Someone’s popular…” Keith smiles tiredly, and it only widens when Shiro flushes, glancing down at the tile. He shuts the door behind him, a hasty hand reaching to unbutton the top of his uniform. Keith feels the relief tenfold between their short distance, knowing just how satisfying it is to drop the exhausting overlay of being as important as Shiro has come to be.

“It was no big deal.” Shiro starts on his usual spiel, but the younger can’t let it happen this time.

“But it was a big deal.” Keith sits up, contrary to the previous protest, “It was to them. To all of them. To all the families, and the ones they lost, to A—”

Keith stops, realizing the territory he dared to cross. Shiro’s body stiffens. Keith feels it, but he knows when he hears the creak in the mattress.

Shiro hadn’t told him about Adam. He figured out when examining the memorial for himself, given some free time and an itching to wander like he used to. Keith knew who he was, knew how much he meant to the man he’d grown so close to. He couldn’t deny that seeing Adam’s plaque on the wall hurt him as well.

“I’m sorry,” he says, unsure of what else he _could_ say, “I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

“No…mention it.”

Shiro eyes him. Not angry, no, but hurt. Terribly so. Broken, in mourning, lost. The man on the podium had shed his skin.

“He’s gone. I know that better than anyone.”

“I…” The words lodge themselves in his throat, only a short breath measling its way out. The air feels thin, and Keith wants to say _so much_. But he regrets bringing it up in the first place even more.

“I wonder, sometimes, what would happen if I had stayed with him.”

Keith continues to wallow in pitiful silence, though he knows how much Shiro hates pity.

“Don’t you wonder?”

Wonder is a toned down way of saying it. For Keith to say he has vivid dreams about how things would have been different, would be a more fitting statement. He has his pros and cons in regards to leaving Earth five years ago, the cons list being fairly shorter than the pros, but he knows Shiro’s scale must be different on drastic levels.

“I think about it, sometimes.” He enters the topic at hand with caution, “But I wouldn’t have found out the truth about my family if I didn’t. I wouldn’t have found you, _saved_ you, I…”

Keith cuts his rambling short once more as soon as he feels he’s gone to far. His eyes remain glued to the sheet that hides his stomach, until Shiro’s sitting directly beside him, human hand raised gently in the air. His nostrils flare when the backs of Shiro’s knuckles graze his cheek. He knows all too well what lies there.

“I wouldn’t have given you this.” Shiro’s thumb traces the wide end of his scar.

“That wasn’t you.”

“But you thought it was me.”

“I _knew_ it wasn’t you.”

Shiro knows he isn’t going to win the argument. He falls back as soon as Keith’s voice raises in the slightest.

“Keith…”

“I don’t regret it.” He states. His head aches, painkillers circulate in his bloodstream, but he means it with every fiber of his being. Of all the things space has taken from him, it’s given him so much more.

“I’m glad,” Shiro smiles, but it’s still sad. “I don’t regret it either.”

Keith clasps the hand that traces his skin, squeezing for dear life.

“I know you don’t.”

He offers what he can of the small hospital bed, shifting to the side and patting the vacant space.

“Keith…I shouldn’t.”

“But you want to,” Keith finds himself saying, “I know you do.”

“How?”

“You didn’t make an excuse.” Shiro’s eyebrows furrow, but it doesn’t stop him. Keith knows he isn’t wrong. “When you lie, you make excuses.”

If there’s one thing Shiro knows, it’s when he’s beat. The same doesn’t apply to combat or the war that’s slowly coming to a close before their tired eyes, but when it comes to Keith it’s much easier to cave. He’s surrendering to safety. That’s the part that makes it somewhat, if not always, okay.

He takes the hand offered to him, shuffling boot-clad feet under Keith’s thin bedding until he eventually tells him to just take the damn things off. Shiro complies without a single complaint.

The new captain of the Atlas dozes off in record time, nearing seconds rather than the usual jumble of scattered minutes. It used to take a few whispers in the dark, a single kiss on the forehead if the nightmares became too vivid.

But for the first time since saving Shiro from the Garrison post, he can see—no, _feel_ —peace. Keith’s afraid to breathe, skidding along the risk of waking him. His bottom lip isn’t caught underneath his top teeth, nor is there a jarring crease between his eyebrows. Shiro’s hold doesn’t tense with a pulse and a whimper for at least an hour, and Keith isn’t sure if what he feels is pride, love, or a strangling mixture of both.

After all their fearless leader had been through, from abduction, to death, to resurrection, he’s finding peace. And the sick, twisted—but utterly fantastic—perk of it all is that he found it in Keith’s room. In Keith’s bed. In Keith’s _arms_.

Keith’s uncut fingernails toy with white streaks of hair that fall across Shiro’s eyes, each twirl of his finger gentle and practically phantom.

He loves Shiro.

The time to say that out loud, make it real, might not be now.

But he’s content in his arms. Content with the peace he’ll slowly but surely find. He’s always been content with Shiro, no matter the state.

That won’t change.


End file.
